


Odin's Great Hall

by OllieCatSuperNova



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Gabriel dies but not really, Gabriel's kids, Lucifer isn't really apparent, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Odin didn't really die, Slow Build, Slow Burn, maybe smut i'm not sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:15:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieCatSuperNova/pseuds/OllieCatSuperNova
Summary: What happens when an angel dies?It's a question that not even God knows, and if He does, he's not telling.For Gabriel, it takes him on a journey straight back to living, but he's not so sure he wants to leave his place of death.Maybe a certain 6-foot-4-inch man can convince him to come back to life.(chapter one is more of a prologue by the way)





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is my first fic that I've ever posted anywhere!  
> I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Also, this first chapter switches perspective a lot. It switches from what happened in when Gabriel was Loki, to what's happening in present time with the Winchesters. It also switches from Sam's to Gabriel's to Castiel's and back to Gabriel's point-of-views.  
> Sorry for the confusion, but it does flow nicely, so don't worry! :D

“Tonight, a child is born,” whispered Munnin, the large spirit cloaked in feathers black as pitch. It sat atop the shoulder of its god, its breath raspy from having flown to the furthest reaches of Yggdrasil to find news worthy to know about. 

Just then, Huginn arrived and perched atop its god’s other shoulder. Huginn and Muninn looked identical to all but their god, who only had one eye for which to tell them apart. Huginn leaned close to its god’s ear and whispered, “It is true. It is the child of Angrboda and Loki.” Huginn’s voice was slightly more raspy than that of Muninn, as if the former had flown harder than its sibling. 

The god moved his right eye from Huginn to Muninn and back again, considering his words carefully. “First Fenrir, then Jormungand,” the god spoke at last, “What is the child this time? And its name?” 

“Don’t know.”  
“Don’t know.” The ravens echoed each other and looked around as if the answer was nearby.

“Please find out for me, my friends.” The god’s deep, rough voice resonated through the twin spirits’ very souls.

“Yes Odin.”  
“Yes Odin.” They echoed each other once again as they flew off quickly to find the answer to the question.

The corner of Odin’s mouth curled up in a smirk that was hidden by his long greying beard and drooping mustache, the wiry hair clean, if a bit bloodstained. He stood heavily, using his dual-bladed ax as a support. He pulled heavy pelts onto his shoulders and strode out of the room, away from the great bone, antler and hide chair by the open window and toward a closed door through which sounds of laughter and food drifted to his ears. He opened the door and entered his Great Hall.

It was time for the deadly sparring to begin once again.

***

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Dean asked skeptically from the driver’s seat.

“Pretty sure,” Sam answered, refusing to meet his brother’s eye, focusing on the papers in front of him.

“I’m gonna need a little more than ‘pretty sure’ Sam.”

Sam barely glanced up, “Really pretty sure.” He could see Dean shake his head in his peripheral vision. They were headed to Elysian Fields hotel, the place where Gabriel had died, Cas in the backseat quietly watching the scenery pass by outside the window. Bobby had found a revival ritual, powerful enough to bring back an angel supposedly. The only thing they needed that wasn’t in the trunk, was an angel’s grace. That’s where Cas came in.

They pulled up to the formerly elegant hotel, now in ruins, and stepped out of the impala. Dean went to retrieve the duffle from the trunk, while Sam and Cas stood between the car and the hotel, looking at the ruins in front of them. “Do you remember the Enochian from Bobby’s?” Cas had gone to Bobby’s place when the old hunter called to say he may have found something. Sam and Dean weren’t the best with speaking or translating Enochian, so Castiel was their best bet at getting everything accurate. 

Cas turned to fully face Sam. He tilted his head, brow furrowed, “Of course. Do you doubt my competence?” Sam was about to tell him that he was just making sure, and that no, he didn’t doubt the angel, when Dean walked by, interrupting him.

“Alright, let’s go do some redecorating,” Dean strode past them, duffle clutched in his hand. He kicked the door in and started breaking a path straight to the ballroom, shoving broken rafters and half caved in walls out of the way. It was tough to make it all the way to the ballroom, but when they got there, the room was so caved in that Cas had to use some of his mojo so they would have room to move around. They took out the holy oil, paint and knives, and got right to work. 

When they were done, Enochian sigils were cluttered all over the walls and floor, all pointing to the six scorched wings spread across the floor. The body was gone, but Cas didn’t seem to notice, so it must not matter. “Do not disturb the wings,” Cas had said upon entering the room, “They are the source of an angel’s strength. If we damage the ash, Gabriel’s wings will have permanent damage when he returns. So much so that he may not be able to help us. He’ll be as useless as a human.”

“Hey!” Dean protested indignantly. 

“You’re different. You were raised human, you know how to deal with all of the flaws of humanity.” Cas practically rolled his eyes to look at Dean. “It’s different for a being of such strength and power to be reduced to your level.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible as he turned away to put the tools back into the duffle. Sam huffed a quiet laugh and turned to face Cas again, regaining his composure. “So,” Cas turned to look at him at the sound of his voice, “Is that all we have to do? Is there a spell we have to say or perform?”

Cas looked around a final time to ensure that everything was in place before nodding once. He moved to stand directly at Gabriel’s foot, if the archangel had been lying there. He closed his eyes, held out his hands, palms down, fingers spread, and spoke. His voice as low and sounded foreign from the Enochian floating off of his tongue. Suddenly he broke from the calming Enochian to yell loudly, “Close your eyes!” his own still tightly shut, continuing in Enochian as if he’d never stopped.

Sam and Dean hit the deck as a piercing white light exploded throughout the ballroom of Elysian Fields, support beams cracking and stray chairs thrown to the side from an unseen force.

Sam cautiously opened his eyes and saw Gabriel sitting heavily on the floor in the same spot that he’d died, the six wing marks no longer on the floor around him. He looked dazed, in pain and… sad? In fact he looked heartbroken. “Gabe…?” Sam whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 

Gabriel suddenly stood up so fast that Sam barely noticed his movement, and gave Castiel an uppercut that threw him across the room. “What have you done!?” He screamed and took off, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

What the hell?

***

Odin wiped blood from his brow and tossed his ax from his left hand to his right. He looked around him at the large battlefield, strewn with dead bodies. Huginn suddenly flew to him, Muninn close behind, and sat on his shoulder. “Odin,” he whispered, “The child is in human form. Only she is half dead, half living.” Odin shook his head gravely.

“Her name is Hel,” Muninn informed.

“She will stay in Niflheimr where we send those who the Valkyries have not sent to Asgard. Her brothers may choose to be with her, or come and go as they please, but she must stay there.” Huginn and Muninn looked at each other, waiting for further instructions. “Tell this to Loki. If he has any qualms, tell him to come to me directly.”

“Yes Odin.”  
“Yes Odin.” They echoed and took off.

Odin watched them go before waving his hand, letting the dead rise once again. They laughed and patted each other on the back and turned their attention to the god in front of them. “To Yggdrasil!” Odin yelled, raising his dual bladed ax, the newly raised dead lifted their weapons and cheered along with him. With that, Odin led them back to Valhalla.

Great trays of meats and vegetables already lay atop every table, great decanters of ale placed at each seat. He let the vikings go in and eat, while he went back to his small backroom. A giant wolf was waiting for him. “Odin,” the canine’s sing-song voice echoed through the small room. “I’ve come on behalf of my baby sister.”

“Ah, Fenrir” Odin nodded. “Where is your father, I told him to deal with me directly.”

Fenrir lowered his head, holding back a growl, “I came before he got your message.” The great wolf paced forward a few steps. “I understand why you dislike Jormungand, he is a brute that only cares about food. More animal than demigod even to me.” Odin nodded, he’d made the great serpent remain in Jötunheimr. “I also understand why you dislike me, I take after my father in his tricky ways, but Hel has done nothing. She is only just born, and cannot harm you.” He tilted his head menacingly. “What do you have against her? Against our family?”

Odin sighed deeply, “I do not have anything against your family. I only think she can help the lost souls who have not made it to Asgard. They are trapped in Niflheimr now, alone and frightened.”

Fenrir tensed, hackles rising. “I know you are setting a trap, Allfather, and I cannot convince you to back down, but I will do everything in my power to keep Hel at home with us. She is safe there, I will guard her, and father loves her dearly. I will not allow her out of my sight.” He approached until his snout was inches from Odin’s nose, the Allfather remaining unfazed. “You’ll have to kill me if you want her.” With that he swung away and loped out of the room, leaping out of the open window and returning to Jötunheimr, land of the giants.

***

Gabriel’s wings trembled. They were reacting, he knew, to all that he had gone through. He was perched atop a glacier, legs dangling over the edge. When those idiots had revived the archangel he was brought back without clothing, but he had graced up a pair of slacks made of furs along with a leather belt and scuffed leather boots. He hated those fools, damn Winchesters always fucking up his life, damn Castiel for helping them. He was leaning forward, his head in his hands, his six great golden wings slightly raised and shaking.

He picked up a chunk of ice and hurled it into the Northern Sea with all of his strength. He lifted his face, his cheeks becoming even colder from the tears that he let fall. “Take me back,” he murmured, then yelled, “Please take me back!” 

He shut up quickly and dried his face with a quiet snap of his fingers when he felt an angel land behind him. “Gabriel.” Damn it, it was Castiel. “Something about you… is off.” 

Gabriel clenched his fists, slowly rising. He looked out into the sea, keeping Cas behind him, but tracking him nonetheless. “I don’t expect you to understand, you winged whore,” he said lowly.

“Gabriel I-”

“No! I’m not like you! I left, you stayed. You have no right to drag my ass back here. I was so close to-” he broke off and murmured, “So close…”

Castiel was silent for a time. “What was it like?” he asked at length.

“What?” Gabriel asked confused, turning to finally face the weaker angel.

“When Lucifer killed you. What was it like to be dead… gone?” Cas was looking at him with that look that meant he was genuinely curious. He actually wanted to know where he went. How could he explain it to an angel? There was no way he could tell anyone about what he’d gone through.

“Leave,” he said instead, low and dismissive. He didn’t want Cas to be frightened of him, but he didn’t want the angel to press the issue.

“Gabriel, if I’ve offended you-”

“No. You just wouldn’t understand.” He glanced up to the sky, he saw things different now. When he’d first been brought back, he saw things of the physical and celestial plains, but now… he shrugged it off. It must be his imagination. “Why did you bring me back anyways?”

Castiel shifted his weight, his iridescent black wings resituating themselves against his back. “We need your help. The apocalypse-”

“Still?” Gabriel interrupted again. He thought he left them that message. Didn’t they do what he’d told them? Idiots! “How can I help you? Besides, I’m done with this whole catfight between the wings and the horns. Who cares anymore? We’re all doomed anyways!”

Castiel didn’t seem fazed in any way by his words, perfect little soldier. “Gabriel, the rings… they didn’t work. Lilith succeeded in breaking the last Seal.”

“But the last Seal is her death, and no one who knows so is powerful enough to do her in,” he protested then stopped short. Wait a second, “Did the Winchesters…?”

Castiel nodded gravely. Of course he didn’t want to admit that his pet project backfired on him. Gabriel stopped listening, however, when something in the sky behind Castiel caught his eye. He knew exactly what it was, it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Damn it, he knew he was different! 

He flew behind Castiel in the blink of an eye, curling his six wings around them both just as the hammer hit. Lightning exploded around them, and Gabriel let out a gasp of intense pain from inside of the cavern he’d built with his wings, Castiel caught with his own two wings posed slightly raised in defence. Thunder cracked distantly as Gabriel felt himself fall. His wings slumped around them and he lay heavily on his back, watching the underside of a goat-driven chariot disappear in the distance.

Cas looked at him in bewilderment. Of course he was, he couldn’t see the asshole who’d just tried to kill him. As far as the clueless angel was concerned, a random bolt of lightning had struck them out of nowhere. Damn it!

***

There were many gods and goddesses packed into Odin’s side room of Valhalla. Tyr, Balder, Thor, Freya, Frigg, and many others sat and waited for Odin to speak. 

“As you all know,” he began, everyone else sinking into silence, “Loki has caused us trouble for years.” The room filled with cheers of agreement. He has had three children with his maiden Angrboda: the great wolf Fenrir, the mighty serpent Jormungand, and most recently, the living dead Hel. I propose a solution to their reign of terror.”

“Will we fight? We can’t kill them, you know Asgard forbids it,” Tyr puzzled, trying to subtly steer the conflict away. He didn’t want to hurt his friend.

“No. We kidnap them. Hel can go to Niflheimr and watch the dead there, and Jormungand will be caste into the waters around Midgard.” Odin had thought this out and these were the best places for the beasts. 

“What about Fenrir?” Forseti queried. Everyone stopped and turned to Odin for an answer. 

“I will watch over him here in Asgard. I will keep him well away from Valhalla.” Some of the gods murmured their disapproval, but for the most part they were all pleased with this solution. 

“Have you thought of asking Daddy dearest?” A sly voice sounded from the corner of the room. 

“Loki.” Odin narrowed his eyes at the trickster god.

“The one and only, Allfather,” he sneered. “Now what’s this I hear about you taking my boys and baby girl away from me?” he stepped out of the corner, sauntering over to the table where everyone was seated.

“They are terrorising all of Yggdrasil, and this will solve that problem.” Odin’s grip tightened around his dual bladed ax. “Leave now, Asgard is no place for your kind.”

Loki’s hand went to his chest in exaggerated offense. “Why I’m a god just like all of you!”

“You’re the son of giants.”

“That’s just racist!”

“We’re separating them, and you cannot stop us.”

“Well if that’s how you feel about it-” Loki cut himself off with a snap, and promptly disappeared.

***

“Something is wrong.” Cas reappeared, Gabriel slung weakly around his shoulders. Something was very wrong indeed. That stray bolt of lightning, it was too powerful to be simply nature. True, Gabriel could have summoned it, but not only did it feel wrong, different, but the fact that the archangel had flung himself in front of it proved that it wasn’t him. 

“Oh my god, what happened?” Sam asked, shocked at the sight in front of him.

“I’m… not sure.” Cas looked around before muttering, “I’ll be back.” He took off again to a nearby motel, laying Gabriel gently on one of the beds, went back to Elysian Fields and stood between the Winchesters. He placed his hands on each of their shoulders and brought them to the motel where Gabriel was waiting, unconscious. 

“Cas, what the Hell just happened?” Dean exploded. “Wait, did you even pay for the room?” Castiel looked at him, confused before remembering that in motels one gives money in exchange for use of a room. It must have slipped his mind in his urgency. He shook his head, slightly apologetic. “Hang on, I’ll go do it.” Dean turned and left the room.

Gabriel’s wings had sustained more damage than a simple lightning strike could have caused. “Close your eyes,” he ordered Sam, who was standing in the corner, looking concerned and bewildered. Castiel turned Gabriel over carefully, laying him on his stomach. He placed his hands gently over Gabriel’s shoulder blades at the base of his wing joints. He murmured some Enochian to help the healing process and sent some Grace through Gabriel’s back and wings.

Light too bright for a human exploded through the room and when it died down Cas examined the wounds again. The archangel’s wings would heal in time, but Cas had done all that he could. His vessel was healed of all damage, but his wings… They hung limp and the two largest ones were resting at unnatural angles. Dean came back, wide eyed and pistol in hand. 

“Relax Dean, Castiel was just healing Gabriel.” Sam glanced at his brother. Dean tucked his gun into his waistband as he walked over to the archangel. Castiel jerked him back just when he was going to step about three feet away from Gabriel, right onto one of the wings that he obviously couldn’t see. 

“Careful, Dean.” Castiel led the hunter a little ways back. “His wings are badly damaged, and though they remain in the celestial plain enough to make them invisible to you, they have slipped enough to be sensitive to any and all touch.” He picked up the Winchesters’ bags and left the room, the boys chasing him with confusion. “It would be best if you simply stayed out of this room. I’ll watch over him.”

Dean took the bags from him and headed back to the office to rent another room, grumbling incoherently. Cas watched them go before walking back into the room, carefully avoiding Gabriel’s wings, which were twitching subtly around his unconscious body. He stood in the corner of the room, well away from the reach of the archangel’s six quivering wings. He still wasn’t sure what had happened, but Gabriel could tell them if- when- he awoke.

***

“Father! Father, help us!” Fenrir howled in fear and rage, but Loki was nowhere to be seen. Tyr and a few other stronger gods were dragging the great wolf away as he watched Jormungand be trapped in the sea of Midgard and his sister, his little precious sister be thrown into Niflheimr. She didn’t deserve this. The gods were wicked, evil. This he knew. Only Tyr, his friend from since he was just a pup, could be trusted. The war god looked sad as he helped bring Fenrir to Odin.

They dragged him all the way to the island Lyngvi in middle of Lake Amsvartnir, him trying to break free every step of the way. When they arrived Odin was sitting there, watching him calmly. “Fenrir,” the Allfather said, “Try to break this iron chain. It is called Læding.”

Fenrir grinned wickedly. Easy, break a chain, go get Hel. He nodded, letting the gods tie Læding around his neck. He tightened his neck muscles and jerked his head, breaking the thick chain with ease. 

“Now this one,” Odin challenged, holding out another larger chain. “It is called Dromi.”

Fenrir nodded menacingly, breaking the second with only a little extra effort than the first. He stared at Odin, head low and hackles raised. He wanted to tear the god’s throat out right now, but Hel was more important. She always would be.

“Would you like to try the last?” Odin’s voice was devious. He was laying a trap.

“No,” Fenrir scowled.

But then Tyr stepped up. “If I put my hand in your mouth, will you agree?”

He faced his friend evenly. “Tyr, I do not wish you harm,” he warned. If his jaws closed, or his teeth so much as brushed the god’s skin, blood would flow. 

Tyr smiled sadly through his golden beard. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me intentionally.” He laid his spear down and his usual sharp features softened as he added, “You would never hurt anyone intentionally.” He stepped up to the wolf, holding the new rope up for him. “Come on, open your mouth, my sweet one.” As Tyr’s hand was placed into Fenrir’s open mouth, as he whispered, “Fenrir, I am sorry,” and looped the rope around the wolf’s neck. 

The new rope hurt. It hurt so badly that Fenrir jumped, his muscles tightening. Tyr screamed along with Fenrir’s yelps, and they looked down in horror at the god’s dismembered hand.

“Fenrir Wolf!” Odin roared, “You are forever more trapped in Lyngvi where you can no longer do harm! The rope that binds you is called Gleipnir, made by dwarves out of the sound of a cat’s paws, the spittle of a bird, a woman’s beard, the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, and the sense of a bear. You can thank Skirnir for bringing it to us.” 

Fenrir was more mad at himself than Odin. Tyr had trusted him, and he had bitten his hand off. Hel had trusted him, and he’d let his guard down enough to be captured. Tyr retrieved his spear and left, casting a teary glance back at his old friend. The other gods attached Gelgja, a chain, to Gleipnir and tied the other end to a boulder known as Gjoll and buried it into the earth on mile down. Odin considered him for a moment before placing another, larger, boulder on top, this one called Thviti.

Fenrir’s only thoughts were of his little sister and how he couldn’t protect her. He never could keep his promises.

***

Gabriel ran to his children, following the sounds of their cries. Damn gods, damn angels, damn everything! He ran through fields and forests, climbed mountains and cliffs, trying to reach them, but their sorrowful sounds only grew more faint with every inch of progress he made…

He woke suddenly in a cold sweat with four aching wings and sharp pains shooting through the other two. He gasped in pain and buried his face into the pillow below him, holding his four less injured wings close to his body, the other two limp and quivering. 

“Gabriel! Please stay calm,” it was Castiel’s voice. 

“I can’t fucking calm down! My wings… how bad do they look?”

“Castiel was silent for a time before responding slowly, “The two larger are broken, Gabriel, the other four seem only bruised. You also lost some feathers, but they will grow back.”

Gabriel thought fast, “Bring me hvǫnn, it’s the only thing that’ll heal them.” Castiel remained silent, but Gabriel could still feel him in the room. “Go!” he barked angrily, the pain making him almost pass out again, but he felt Castiel leave immediately.

He had no clue how much time had passed before Castiel finally came back, clutching a small burlap bag containing fresh herbs. The hvǫnn.

Gabriel tried to sit up but the movement shifted his broken wings and he cried out in pain. Castiel was at his side in an instant. “Tell me how to apply the Angelica Archangelica. I can do it for you.”

The what? “You mean you didn’t get the hvǫnn? Castiel, you stupid-”

“Gabriel,” Castiel interrupted him, “The scientific name of hvǫnn is Angelica Archangelica. You only knew it by its Old Norse name.” He felt rather that saw his angel brother step closer to him. “How do I apply it? I am unfamiliar with this herb.”

Gabriel shrugged off his confusion, the intense pain must’ve still been messing with his mind, and said through clenched teeth, “Use a mortar and pestle to make a poultice with the hvǫnn and holy oil.” His smallest wings flapped subtly in order to try to distract him from the pain. He stayed like that, face-down on a bed in some nondescript motel room, his small pair of wings swirling the air around the room, his medium wings tight against his body, and his largest sprawled in awkward angles on the floor, twitching.

Finally Castiel came forth, holding a stone bowl smelling strongly of the Scandinavian herb. He heard the smaller angel murmur some Enochian, recognising it as a binding spell to help keep the archangel from thrashing, and causing his small flapping wings to still. Yeah, this was going to hurt like Hell.

Castiel gave no warning before he began smearing the poultice all over his large, broken wings, focusing on where the skeletal structure was. The archangel couldn’t move due to the binding spell, but Gabriel screamed in pain, it was like flaming knives cutting into him while being trampled by angry bulls all at once. Castiel smeared the rest over his shoulder blades, and as soon as his hands left his body an intense chill came over him.

The heat must have been his exposed grace reacting with Castiel’s. The last time his wings had been hurt like this, his adoptive Jotunn parents had healed him using the hvǫnn and holy oil poultice. The hvǫnn was used to counter the powers of the Norse gods, while the holy oil would help heal his grace. Only his Jotunn parents knew of his angelic background, and had carried his secret to their deaths. He had never told his four children that he’d had as Loki, and as far as they knew he was dead or dying. Well, Hel was probably wondering how he’d been able to leave Niflheim, but he really didn’t want to think about that right now.

He just wanted to fucking sleep.


	2. What It's Like To Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait! I've had a lot of personal stuff going on.  
> Here's chapter two!  
> I hope you guys like it as much as the first one.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on it so far. :)

It had all happened so fast, Lucifer had caught Gabriel in his trick and had turned his brother’s own archangel blade on him, killing the golden-winged angel. He fell with the words, “You learned all of your tricks from me,” ringing in his ears. He couldn’t believe it, yet somehow he wasn’t terribly surprised either, Lucifer had killed him. Well, at least he could be done with this whole ‘saving the world’ crap.

***

The first thing he noticed was the absence of wings. The weight of the six feathered appendages was nonexistent on his back.

He opened his eyes to a world of black and sat up groggily, looking around. He was seated on a dim gravel road, with nothing but darkness around it- and he was naked. Wasn’t he dead though? He stood up, and a pain shot through his chest and sprouted along his back, then nothing. He couldn’t even feel his feet against the ground. He sighed and tried to snap up some slacks, and was confused when he found himself unable to do so. 

That was when he realized where he must have been: Helveg, the road to his daughter’s world. He shook his head, trying to remember what it was like to be Loki. He began walking, eyes closed, his posture taking on a more grounded nature like that of a Norse god, and he let the gravel tell him where to go. He didn’t get tired on this road, no one ever did. He walked for a long while, but time didn’t exist here, so it only seemed like a long time. 

There was no gradual change in his surroundings, the road stretched out in front of him forever and one step further he was at the entrance of a great hall. His daughter’s prison. A prison that she’d turned onto a home.

He stood there for a moment, taking it in and allowing the memories to flood his mind.

He remembered how his ever-loyal wife Sigyn helped him create a duplicate self so he could escape the gods’ wrath. He had left his children to a life of misery and sadness. He pushed the guilt away, this was no time to sulk.

The sound of harsh barking brought him back to reality. He looked around and saw a huge hound bolting toward him. “Garm!” he breathed, eyes widening. The great hound leaped at him and when he caught it, the black dog snuggled against his face, it’s tail wagging frantically. Garm was as big as Gabriel when the hound reared up on his hind legs, so holding him was somewhat difficult. He looked like a cross between a pitbull and a wolf, and his fur was deathly black, but he still resembled the off-white wolven mass that was Fenrir. Of course Hel had chosen to take him along to Niflheimr.

He put the hound down but continued to pet it, holding back his regret for what had happened to his wolven son. He looked down to find that slacks had somehow materialized on his lower half. Strange things happened in the world of the gods.

A woman approaching caught his eye and he turned to face her. He knew that woman. He broke into a dead run and hugged her tightly, lifting her and spinning her around. Tears filled his eyes as he set her down and pulled away for a better look. She was as beautiful as she was when she’d been taken, but she’d only been a child then. She was almost skeletal on her left, but her right was muscular and lush, just like the day she was born. 

His daughter, Hel.

“I’m so sorry,” he nearly sobbed. He could never make this right, not in a million years. She’d been forced to stay in this dark place full of misery and woe, while he himself had left to start a life as a Trickster, carefree and cunning. He deserved this death, going to Niflheimr: the place for those who died unheroic or unhonourable deaths. “Have you been well, has Garm been loyal to you?” he blurted, suddenly craving to know how his daughter was fairing.

She smiled a sweet smile, and replied with a voice that resonated throughout his whole body, “I am fine, father, Garm has been an exceptionally good companion.” She looked thinner than she should, and he knew the realization showed on his face when she gently took his hand. “Father, the souls here need food more than I. Come, I’ll show you around Éljúðnir, my hall.” 

Gabriel noticed now that she was taller than himself by nearly a foot. He smiled to himself as she led him toward the large building. Éljúðnir, ‘damp with sleet or rain’. He realized that the name was quite fitting when he stepped through the low, crumbling doorway and into the hall. It was cold and foggy, even inside, and everything was thoroughly dampened. “Does it rain often here?” he was compelled to ask.

She hesitated before answering, “It’s mostly the fog, but there are frequent rain storms. Sometimes it’s more like sleet or wet snow.” Gabriel noticed a quiet, careful nature in Hel. When she was a child she used to run and play with Fenrir, and they’d gotten her Garm because she seemed to like him so much. A couple scrawny corpses wandered past, staring at him with hollow eyes. “Don’t worry about them, you’re just so new here is all. We haven’t had anyone new for years.”

“I suppose no one believes anymore,” Gabriel remarked quietly as he watched his daughter bend down to offer a small chunk of bread to a small group of dead huddled together in a corner. She was so kind, even here. He was amazed that this dark, damp place of misery hadn’t gotten to her in all the years that she’d been trapped here. She was much stronger than himself. He’d spent his life running away at the first sight of trouble. He supposed some things never change.

She led him into a tiny room bare of anything but a few old, rotting wooden crates. She closed the creaky sagging door and turned to face her father. “There’s something I don’t quite understand,” she began. “You look so fit and healthy for being chained to a boulder with a serpent’s venom dripping onto your face.”

He looked away, guilty. “I… haven’t quite been chained to a boulder,” he confessed at length. Hel remained silent, and when Gabriel finally got his shit together enough to look up at her, he saw a melancholy, knowing smile on her face. She nodded for him to go on, patiently listening. “I was a coward, I ran away when they came for us. I became a Trickster- a mischievous deity.” He didn’t know if he could tell her about his true self- that he was a Judeo-Christian being of Celestial intent.

He tore his gaze away from her. He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have to put the weight of another worthless soul on her shoulders. He turned to leave, but before he could make a single step two arms, one muscular and supple, one skeletal and cold, wrapped around his chest. “Father, stay with me. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and we’ve both done things we regret.” She came around to stand in front of him, bending down to hug him and bury her face into his neck. “Let’s just be together for a while.”

Gabriel felt tears dampen his eyes as he hugged her back tightly, never wanting to let her go. “I’ll get us all back together, I promise.”

A battered-looking corpse-like soul wandered by, stopping at the rotting, sagging door and knocking weakly, his voice dry and hollow as he called, “Miss Hel, it’s time to share the food again.”

She broke away from her father and called back in her sweet, resonating voice, “Thank you, Knut, I’ll be there shortly.” As the heavy footsteps faded into the distance, Hel looked back at Gabriel, offering him a small smile. “Loki, would you care to join us?” That’s right, he was Loki now, not Gabriel. He had to forget about his archangel past. “I’m sure the souls here would love to hear some of your stories,” she added, trying to persuade him to join her.

He smiled back at her. “Of course,” he assured. Hel looked relieved as she led her father toward the main hall where all of the souls had gathered to eat what little they had. When they arrived, Gabriel-no, Loki- took the time to take in the scenery. There were so many beaten and starved-looking souls to count, some sitting on the floor around a low table made of broken crated and rotting planks, others leaning tiredly against the crumbling walls, some just lying there, prone. He looked up and realized that the large room lacked a ceiling, and the light sleet came in freely.

Hel moved to the head of the table, gesturing for Loki to join her there, and he timidly came forth. “Will you help me hand out the bread?” she asked quietly. Loki nodded, taking some of the bread from the small pile on the table. “Give everyone a piece about this big,” she murmured, tearing off a chunk of bread about half the size of Loki’s fist. No wonder everyone was so thin here. 

They parted ways to distribute the bread among all of the poor souls trapped here, occasionally stopping back at the table for more stale bread. It took a long time, but at long last they were done, and they met back at the head of the table. Hel had run out of bread, but Loki still held one last chunk, half of what everyone else had gotten. 

He held it out to her. “Here, you need this much more than me.”

She shook her head, “No, father. I’m used to giving up my meals to feed my people.” She gently pushed his hand back with her dead hand. Loki reveled in the feel of her skin, it was like dry leather, but he pushed it back to her.

“I can’t eat and tell stories at the same time,” he insisted, and she finally took it from him, taking a tiny bite, savoring the small morsel, but only because she knew her father well enough to know that he wouldn’t eat if she didn’t.

Loki arched his back in a long stretch, sat down, and began, slipping into the dialog of Old Norse, even translating names so that the souls here would understand better, “I’ll tell you of a story of which none of you know. It’s a tale of two brothers, cursed to live out a legend that they cannot avoid- or so everyone thought. 

“You know that I have been through a plethora of tales and legends, I have seen Thor dress as Freyja to retrieve his hammer, I have been brothered to Odin, but I have also seen many things from londer ago. I remember the slimy fish that hauled itself out of the water to eventually become man. I remember the first apes to walk upright on their journey to become warriors. I was there when the Judeo-Christian God caste their Devil into their underworld. I’ve wielded the deadly blades of the Angels in my own hand. I was also present when these brothers were being made.

“The older was called Dalr, the younger Samr, connected by the name Borgstad. The Judeo-Christian God had planned out everything to do with these boys, from who their most distant blood would be to the creation of everything they would interact with. He made their mother die aflame when Samr was but six moons old and Dalr decided then that he would protect his younger kin with everything he possessed. Dalr and Samr faced angry spirits of every sort and region, from far West to East, from the Southernmost point to the furthest North. From the skies to the deepest worlds of Earth. They went through everything presented to them with the strength of bears and the tactics of wolves.

“Samr was once killed. No one knows where his soul went during that time, not even he remembers. Dalr kept his body for days, watching over him, like he would simply wake up one day, but when it became certain that his soul was gone, Dalr went and sold his own soul to an evil spirit in order to save his brother. It worked, but Dalr had only a single year to appreciate his achievement before the spirit came for his soul.

“Dalr went to the Judeo-Christian Helheim for forty years, tortured in every way imaginable, but he came back. The Angel of Thorsday brought him back. Dalr will be haunted by his memories for the rest of his life, and well into his death, but he never lets it show. He never lets on the things that eat away at him every second of every day. He is strong that way. He swallows down his guilt with the heavy mead and ale he keeps with him, while Samr watches over him like a hawk.

“One day, the day their bodies were to be used for the very reason they were made, to become weapons in a war they wanted no part in, so they rebelled. The Angel had joined them on their journey, a fierce warrior with the wings of a raven. He was the Thorsday Angel. 

“It takes a lot for an Angel to fall from their sky, but this Angel loved Dalr more than he loved himself. Enough to be cast down from their sky and into Midgard, forced to live away from his brothers and sisters to live among common man. Samr, Dalr, and the Angel of Thorsday called themselves Team Free Will, and fought against their destinies, fought like Tyr himself to achieve freedom of choice for all beings, young and old, big and small. 

“I tried to help them, which is what got me killed and sent here. I didn’t know where I would go what with all of the lives I’ve lived, but I had decided anything was worth joining their cause. Anything was better than what their God had in store for everyone. I died at the hands of Ljósfœra, the Judeo-Christian God of terror and corruption, once an Angel himself. 

“I wouldn’t change what I did, for the brothers Borgstad lived on. They still fight for free will, even if I can no longer help them.” 

Loki didn’t know how to end his tale, so he simply stopped talking. The souls were looking at him, bread gone, eyes wide with wonder. “What of their father?” one of the souls asked curiously, her voice having a hollow quality like the rest of those who’d been here for hundreds of years.

 

Loki looked at her, a shieldmaiden who no longer looked the part. “Guðbliðr Borgstad was a great man. He gave everything for his boys… even his life at the end. Twice.” The old shieldmaiden’s eyes widened slightly in awe. 

“Loki,” Hel spoke quietly and he turned to face her, “Would you like to join me in my room?” He nodded to her, standing to follow his daughter. “Later, my dears, Loki must rest now. There will be time for more tales later on.” They nodded to her and shuffled out, going on with their business, whatever that may be, and Loki followed Hel out into a narrow hallway. She was silent as they made their way down the hallway, up a creaky spiral staircase and to the end of another narrow, decaying hall. Loki thought of asking her how she’d been, or trying to strike up a conversation with his beloved daughter, but he could tell she wanted to get him alone, that she had something on her mind.

At last they entered a small room, no more than seven square feet in all, and Hel sat at an old oak table, gesturing for her father to join her. Loki sat heavily on the hard, smooth stone that acted as his chair, and waited patiently for her to begin. A few minutes went by with both of them simply looking at each other, before Hel broke the silence, “Loki… you look different than I remember.” He waited for more, but she simply looked at him. He knew he’d have to explain to her who he really was… but maybe not quite yet.

“Well, I used to be living,” he joked with a grin that disappeared as soon as he saw the look in his daughter’s eye. She looked sad, confused, like she was grappling for and explanation so she could understand him. He understood, she’d been without her father for so long and she just wanted to know everything about him. He couldn’t say no to that. “Listen, Hel,” he began slowly, “I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of, and I’ve run away from my problems more often than not, but I’m here now.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Father, we’ve all done things that make us seem worse than we are. That’s why we’re here.” She stood and went around him, looking at his back. He felt her soft hand and her bony hand run over his shoulder blades, and they were cool on his skin. He didn’t notice before, but his upper back was aching, sweating. Probably from the sudden lack of grace, and therefore wings. “There’s something about you that seems… broken. Like a tree without leaves or a cat with no tail.”

Loki stiffened a little at that. “No,” he said, swallowing his guilt dry like wheat flour, “I am fine.” He couldn’t tell her that he was part of a family that dominated all others, that fought and killed those who thought differently. True, Christians of late were kind and loving, but back when it really mattered…

“You used to have scars here…” Hel commented quietly. “I’m glad that they’ve gone.” She draped a wool cloak around his shoulders, securing it with a brass fibula before moving back to her seat. “I wish you would tell me some time, father,” she told him in a melancholy tone, “But that is your choice. I will not press you.”

Loki nodded, too numb to answer in words. He refused to let the ever-threatening tears to fall. Perhaps he would tell her… some day.

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you lovely people have any suggestions on where I should go with this fic, please drop them in the comments!  
> I'll do my best to reply to everyone, and I'd love to know your opinions and suggestions!


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